Krzysztof's Threnody scrawls an orphaned lament performed by too many chairs and music stands bleeding out of a womb like Royal, Horvitz
Ah but in the sound booth melting strains blow high above her beat of lead belly, lead belly; and she's underneath rolling rolling while out there unresolved sounds twist and caw like so many ropes of blackbird dna
Reason for the laugh about it is the lifetime of pain more than not and measured to her years reason for staying is it's the only real feeling
In the night there's a farm starts to rise and spread out in the city dark from her heart. Songs in the barnyard in the trees songs in a fireplace and she can hear them. She's the mother who bends down low and gentle and coaxes them out of the tunnel, "live!".